Luyện nghe bài hát Got Ur Self A...

Woke up mornin', (yeah)
You got a gun (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Got a gun

Yo, I'm livin' in time behind enemy lines so

I got mine, I hope you (got a gun)
You from the hood I hope you (got a gun)
You want beef? I hope ya (got a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take what I
So, you tried to front, ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got a gun)

My, first album had no guest appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
Many years on this professional
Why you question who's better? The world is still mine
Tattoos real with "God's Son" the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts that
To take it back to Africa, I did it Biggie
Me and were soldiers of the same struggle
You lames huddle, your team's shook
Y'all feel the wrath of a killer, this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder apparel
But the Q.B. don't stand for no
Every word is like a blast, 'cause y'all all soft
And I'm the black hearse that came to y'all ass in
It's for the by the corner store
try, many die, come at Nas if you want a war, get it bloody, uh

Yo, I'm the N the A to the
And If I wasn't, I must've Escobar
You know the kid got his tooth fixed
Hair parted with a preciseness, Bravehearted for life
It's the return of the Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you Y'all awaited the true savior
that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do through righteous steps
You thought I was gone, so in light of my death
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, of sambos
Call me "God's Son", with my low
I don't die slow, put them rags up like Petey
is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow
Flip the back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo

It's, the, return of the Prince, the
This is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I
shift, look sick up in that Boxter Porsche
With the top cut off, kids go and cop The Source
They don't know the blocks I'm on
And everybody want to where the kid go? Where he rest at?
Where he shop at and at?
Know he got dough, where does he Is he still in the bridge?
Does he really how ill that he is?
Got all of y'all watchin' my moves, my and my jewels
Hop in my coupe, dodge like that
It's not my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
at my tennis shoes, I iced that
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
Keepin' it gangsta ya, uh

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